


Say the word

by a_bored_fan



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur is straight up NOT having a good time for a chunk of the story, Awesome Gwen (Merlin), Canon Era, Good Morgana (Merlin), Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Morgana Knows about Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Multi, Oblivious Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Stressed Merlin, but not really, it makes sense in the story trust me, it's not too much angst but consider yourselves warned, references to episodes, uther sucks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28970055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_bored_fan/pseuds/a_bored_fan
Summary: Arthur is the only son to Uther Pendragon, magic-hating King of Camelot.Merlin is the most powerful wizard in existence.Their friendship is not only unlikely but potentially dangerous (for Merlin).Add into the mix a centuries-old curse that affects every person throughout the kingdom, and really, everything could go completely wrong.
Relationships: Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Morgana & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 64





	1. Part One - Arthur

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> I haven't re-read the text in some weeks now so there may be some mistakes here and there.  
> I've been meaning to write the whole story first, and publish it later, but really, I just feel like posting the first chapter today.  
> I hope you enjoy the story, it is really entertaining for me to write.

_You are not to ever fall in love._  
The words had been engraved in Arthur's mind before he even knew what they truly meant.  
He was heir to the throne, after all, it wasn't as if he could marry for love. He owed it to the kingdom, to do what was best. What was needed.  
Arthur always had the statement present, even if it seemed… Odd. Regardless, he would never question the importance of it. He had much more important matters at hand.  
The first time Arthur asked about ‘the marks’, as he called them, he was four years old. He had seen people with scribbles in their forearms. Many things were intriguing about these marks. For starters, not everyone seemed to have them; children didn't while adults usually did. Secondly, they sometimes had different colours. But most importantly of all, people used to cover them.  
He asked his father one day, when he found him in the corridors. He only got ‘you will learn about it when the time is right’ as an answer before being blatantly ignored. Which, if you asked him, wasn't much of an answer at all. 

The time never seemed to be right. Now that he was a little bit older and could read he understood that the marks were really just names. Arthur also had another advantage that he didn't have last time he asked about them; he knew a new word: Soulmates. Granted, he just knew it had to do with marriage or love or something of the sort. All he needed now was a concrete definition.  
Gaius was the only person that would really tell him anything, answering all of his queries instead of dismissing him like his father did, so he headed to the Court Physician’s chambers.  
“There’s no such thing as soulmates,” the old man had told him, much to Arthur's dismay, "no one is destined to be in love with anyone forever.”  
Now that he presented the definition of 'soulmates' in such a way, the young prince was even sadder than before. He could've had someone that loved him forever? That seemed a little too good to be true, maybe because apparently, it was.  
His facial expression must have shown his thoughts, something that would've greatly disappointed his father if he were to find out because Gaius offered him a sympathetic smile.  
“You'll have time to worry about all of this later when you are older. For now, just let it slip your mind.”  
And with that, the conversation had ended, as abruptly as it had started. 

After some years had passed he started losing all hope of learning the answer in the near future. Last time he talked about the topic with anyone was that small conversation with Gaius. He felt older now. He had lived seven whole summers, he was growing rapidly into a young man. Didn't he deserve some answers?  
It was hard to hide stuff when servants were the ones cleaning up your room, but he did manage to keep a small piece of parchment with all he knew in between the stone wall in a corner of his room, adding to it whenever he made a breakthrough.  
It read as follows:

>   
>  Marks not soulmates. No soulmates. :(  
>  Marks: names.  
>  Marriage ??? Before? After? During?  
>  Colours. Possibly different something. Year? Date? Meaning? People?  
>  Covering it means ??? I don't KNOW  
> 

His best guess, really, was that people tattooed each other's names after wedding ceremonies. Or at the wedding ceremonies. Maybe it was a part of it. He hadn't been to a wedding so he really couldn't tell. That could’ve been why they covered it up, everyone already knew who everyone was married to.  
Arthur had thought a ring was what marked the ceremony but maybe it was the name on their forearms; he saw people with names who were missing the rings. He was somewhat content with his answer. It made sense. And he found it himself, which made him quite proud.  
Still, it didn't feel exactly right, even if it was enough to keep his mind at ease for the following months. 

Arthur did something really stupid at the age of ten. It was Morgana's birthday, and the fuss of celebrations proved to be a good distraction. He tried to use clothes that wouldn't make his heritage obvious, the last thing he needed when sneaking out was someone telling his father about it. And they probably would, Uther was the king after all.  
The sneaking out part wasn’t really hard, considering that he used to snuck out at least once a year, more so when he was younger. No, the main problem was sneaking out without anyone noticing. He had told the servants he was sick and wanted to sleep throughout the feast, but if they were to see him walking through the corridors they would make him go. So, he did what he thought would be best: going out a window with a makeshift rope. Was it a bad idea? Probably, but there was a roof not that far down and once he got there everything would be easier.  
Turns out climbing out a window, makeshift rope or not, wasn’t easy in the slightest. He got a little bit too dirty and a little bit too bruised but maybe that made his disguise even better. From the roof he climbed back down to the floor where he landed honourably on his royal ass. To make himself unnoticed he walked among commoners, praying that if he kept his head down the guards wouldn’t pay attention to a suspiciously-similar-to-the-prince blond boy, he was supposed to be asleep in his chambers after all. If he got through the guards, everything would be smooth sailing, Arthur wasn’t ever really allowed to be in the village and all the people that knew him were at the feast. The second he was out of the guards’ sight he ran as far away as he could, with a smile plastered on his face.  
Arthur hadn’t felt this free in so long. God. Being a prince was great, don’t get him wrong, it was an honour to serve the kingdom and he wished nothing more than to be the greatest king he could when he grew up, but it was sometimes tyring. And boring. He ran through the streets, jumping through hay and wood and everything he saw in his way. He laughed at some kids playing next to him. Everything was so different from what he was accustomed to. The people were free and living, shining from joy. The night was alive with music and voices and laughter. For a second, the young prince forgot everything apart from the feeling of pure bliss being free entailed.  
What made him remember why he was there, why he snuck out, was the bright words people bore on their forearms. While the people of the court used to cover their marks up, commoners didn’t even attempt to hide them. It was the most beautiful sight Arthur had ever seen. Men and women alike had their sleeves rolled up, thanks to the warm spring weather. Grey, blue, red and black names on every adult as far as he could see. The red ones stuck out, draining all of Arthur’s attention. Bold red letters; blood red letters. He got so distracted he stumbled into a woman that was carrying laundry from one place to another.  
“Watch where you are going, boy.”  
He got taken aback by her words. Was he distracted? Obviously, but that didn’t mean that he could be talked to like that. No one talked to him like that. But, alas, complaining and threatening her for speaking like that to the prince would blow his cover. He did the very best thing he could manage.  
“I wasn’t looking,” he apologized, not really apologizing. He was barely even accustomed to saying anything half as nice, that was more than enough. The woman looked at him the way no one would ever dare look at a prince: tightening her grip on the laundry basket, stern eyes meeting his, mouth in a forced line. He saw wrinkles in her frown, but she couldn’t have been that much older than twenty. She sighed, and Arthur considered himself apologized.  
“Be more careful next time,” her eyes softened, and then added “now be sure to head back home, it’s getting late and your mother must be worried sick.”  
“I don’t have a mother,” he blurted out. Arthur didn’t know what sort of sorcery possessed him to say that. It could have something to do with the fact that she looked like she would understand. Or the clothes she wore, that reminded him of the servants that rose him up. Maybe it was her eyes, deep, brown and kind. He didn’t know. But he had just told a stranger something he always carried close to his heart. At this point mentioning his mother felt as hard as revealing a heavy secret.  
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the woman looked sad, almost guilty. Why should she? It wasn’t her fault.  
“I am, too.”  
She shifted the laundry basket from one side of her hip to the other and that’s when he saw it: the blue name on her forearm.  
“I like your mark,” he said, unable to stop himself, “though I like red one’s better.”  
The woman laughed, a soft chuckle. He was glad he got her to laugh instead of being guilty about mentioning his mom, it really wasn’t her fault.  
“I like them better, too, myself” she looked down at her mark, rereading the name on her forearm. “I’m hoping to get one later on.”  
“Can you change the colour?” he asked. He didn’t consider that as a possibility. The second Arthur looked at the red marks from up close he started wondering whether he would be able to get one, but if he could change the colour nothing would stop him from having one.  
“Well of course you can,” she looked puzzled but smiled at him regardless, “it just takes some time.”  
He nodded solemnly, something he learned to do at court when he didn’t know what was being said. After some seconds he added:  
“So are you married to the person on your mark?”  
She laughed again. That was fair. Maybe it was too obvious to be asked, ridiculous even.  
“No, I’m not. I hope to, though.”  
That made no sense. So, his entire theory was in shambles… Great. Just fantastic. Unless she was the exception to the rule...  
“Do people normally marry the person in their forearms?” he asked, hoping he wouldn’t feel so lost with her answer.  
“If they are lucky enough.” That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, at all. The woman continued, “I need to get going, boy, but be sure to return to your home soon. Someone is probably waiting for you.”  
And with that, she left.  
She didn’t know she was wrong, obviously, no one was expecting Arthur to return because no one knew he was out to begin with; but he figured he should head home regardless, he couldn’t risk being found out sneaking back in.  
He didn’t dare ask anyone else about the marks as he made his way back, he had too much to write in his parchment already. 

It had been enough, Arthur decided. Fifteen years was enough. He kept holding on to the idea that maybe, just maybe, someone would actually tell him what the marks meant. His father wouldn't talk to him, Gaius always told him he should not worry yet, the rest of the court and servants considered that it was not their place and Morgana either didn't know or found Arthur's frustration too amusing to stop.  
He cornered king Uther one day, his father wouldn't start the conversation? Great, he would take the lead.  
"I want to know more about the names on people's forearms."  
"You already know enough. More than you should even. And what way is that to talk to a king?" Uther had stopped in his tracks, looking directly at him. The lords besides him stiffened.  
"It's the way to talk to a father." Arthur spat. He was angry. Furious even. What did he mean he 'knew enough'? He absolutely did not, he wouldn't have asked for answers if he did.  
Uther turned to the other men while placing a firm hand in Arthur's shoulder.  
"I will talk with my son in private, this conversation will be continued later," and with that, he guided the young prince to an empty room.  
"I want to learn more about the marks," Arthur insisted.  
"All you need to know about them is that, if you do everything as you've been told, you'll never have to worry about them," the anger was measured, but his words still carried it. The words were sharp and stern. As a king should be, Arthur thought, almost satirically.  
What was his father even talking about? He just wanted to know what the marks were, not what he was supposed to do. When he would hypothetically get them. What they meant.  
"Am I not to get married?" The second he pronounced the words another ones came to mind, some that his father had told him for many days long ago, almost like a mantra. Which, in a weird dejavú his father pronounced again, both in his mind, years ago, and now, in front of him.  
"You are not to fall in love," Uther looked at him the same way he did so long ago and everything just clicked into place.  
Arthur looked at the floor, suddenly overwhelmed. His gaze followed where one stone merged into the other, trying to have a neutral tone for expressing the question that was pressing heavily on his chest.  
"Is that what they are? Who you…" he didn't find it in himself to continue the phrase. He never took his father's rule much to heart. He followed it, of course, and intended to keep following it; but he had never quite realised what giving that up meant. He hadn't fallen in love yet and he would never, for that was what was expected of him, but the idea seemed every day more appealing. Giving that up seemed unfair but he had come to terms with it. But, giving the marks up? Those he had obsessed over for years? Now? After seeing how beautiful they were? It seemed unmeasurably wrong.  
He didn't dare look at his father, having already lost all his compusture. It was wrong. Giving everything to the kingdom was part of a prince's job, but some things were sacred. Everyone knew they were sacred. Commoners understood love was sacred. And good. They were proud of the marks. They wore the names in the forearms as his father himself wore the crown.  
"Who you love, yes, but it goes deeper than that."  
"Please," Arthur almost laughed and even dared look at his father's eyes, with evidente anger behind his own, "do elaborate."  
"The names are an old curse. The colours they have are correlated with how much you love the person and the amount of power they have over you." Uther tried to subtly accommodate his sleeves so they wouldn't go up enough for his son to see the black strokes that decorated his forearm, but Arthur did, and immediately recognized the start of his late mother's name. He didn't even have the heart to be sad for his father. Uther continued, "There's no point in explaining all the colours to you, but if it ever reaches red it means that you aren't able to go against their wishes."  
To his credit, Uther looked sad. His eyes seemed to carry awful tragedies, memories that most likely haunted him day and night. He looked resigned. To everything; to life, to the curse, to love, to death. Arthur couldn't care less. He was furious. He would have phrased it as seeing red if he wasn't terribly conflicted about the colour at the moment.  
Uther continued, as if he was simply stating facts, not breaking his son's hopes and dreams to smithereens, "You can clearly see why no one should have that amount of power over a prince, let alone a king."  
Everything was awful, horrid, terrible and dreadful.  
Firstly, he had been obsessed with a curse, of all things, for years.  
Secondly, he was to never get a name on his forearm. Let alone a red one.  
Thirdly, but most dreadful, his father made sense.  
It made his insides boil. He didn't know how he should feel, but he felt betrayed. By the fates, destiny and the gods.  
"It isn't fair."  
"No one said it was. A prince has his own duties to his people, and in your case it involves never falling in love."  
"But you could? Don't think I never realised you had my mother's name on your forearm. Didn't you trust mom with that sort of power? Why am I any different?"  
"I have to keep you safe, and your judgement in relationships may not be as good as mine."  
"And what do you know? I don't care. It is my life. My feelings are mine. There has to be a line to what one has to sacrifice for their people."  
"There isn't. An heir cost me the love of my life." Uther's words stole the air from Arthur's lungs. That was a low blow. He couldn't feel where his hurt ended and his fury began.  
"Is that how you see me? The sacrifice you made for the people?" Arthur laughed, but no amount of joy could be found in the sound. It was cold and empty. Sharp and headed directly for his father's skin. "My mother's life was more than 'the price to be paid'. And mine, well mine apparently is the people's, isn't it?"  
"Don't try and tell me what your mother was to me, boy. And keeping you safe is my main priority. You can understand why you can’t fall in love with anyone, you are an easy target for sorcerers and conspirators alike.”  
There was a strong difference between what he thought his father had meant and what he actually meant. He understood it now. He couldn’t fall in love with anyone, not even his wife. His wife. He had dreamed, hoped, he would eventually learn to love the person he was married to. That he would learn to care for them, more even than he cared about himself. He had let himself dream of soft smiles and recomforting hugs. How naive had he been. Having even that stripped from his future was a sin. How was he expected not to love?  
Uther continued, trying to convince Arthur of trying the unimaginable. “I made the mistake of loving your mother too much. I shouldn’t have. But now, I can’t do more than protect you, because that was her dying wish and I can’t resist. All of this is for you and for the people.”  
“I won’t make such a promise. I will tend to the people’s needs, and I will never put them at risk, but I cannot and will not make such a promise.”  
Many emotions could be clearly discerned from Arthur’s overall tone and facial expression. Many of them Uther couldn’t understand, but determination seemed to outweigh the others. And he just couldn’t let it happen. “I trust you will come to your senses in time. But for now know that if you are ever to fall in love, I will have the person hanged.”  
“You can’t do that!” Arthur cried. He felt his face getting hot with the fire of anger.  
“I have to protect you, no matter the cost.” Uther wouldn’t bulge.  
“How is killing my loved ones protecting me?” the prince barked. Keeping the tears in was making his eyes hurt but he wouldn’t give his father the satisfaction of seeing him cry, he would only use it as an excuse, how he wasn’t mature enough to discuss these topics. “I think you misunderstood my mother’s wish after all. How could you not, when you have proven yourself to be cruelly blind?”  
He took air in, to steady his own voice. Eyes levelled to his father’s. Blue clashing with blue.  
“If you want to kill them you will have to do it over my dead body. If I ‘make the mistake' of falling in love it would have been my responsibility and my responsibility alone. I will not let you hurt innocent people,” he spit the words as if they were poisonous. And maybe they were, he could feel them burning his chest and blocking his vision. Nevertheless, he carried on, not letting his father’s gaze escape from his own, “And if I ever do fall in love, be sure that I will do anything in my power to protect them from the likes of you.”  
Arthur wanted to storm off, but his father would consider that it just showed ‘how much he needed to detach himself from his sentimentalism’. He glared at his father one last time, trying to convey that he meant each and everyone of his words, and he will never be convinced to believe otherwise. The time it took him to get to his room felt like an eternity. The only thing that reminded him he was walking was the sound of his footsteps, his mind was too far off into the pits of despair to care about what his body was or was not doing.  
The first thing he did when the door beside him was closed was tearing one of his tunics into thin pieces of fabric. He bandaged his arms; both of them, for good measure. He knew it was uncommon to have the mark on one’s left arm, but the possibility was still there.  
Arthur didn’t have supper downstairs that day. One of his servants took food to his room. He didn’t touch it.  
He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep.  
All he could do was feel. And at that moment, that night, with the knowledge of what may happen if he were to fall in love, all he could feel was helpless.


	2. Part Two- Merlin

Love names were highly regarded in Ealdor and Merlin had always been intrigued by them. He would ask any person he came across if they had one, and if they did he would like to know whether they were married, whether they liked the colour of it, whether the other person had the same colour as them, how they met, when did they first fall in love, and things of the sort. The general consensus was that they were important because they showed one’s dedication to their love. How in love you were was shown in the colour of the letters. Merlin never really understood, --his mother didn’t know either--, how the names made people do things; or stopped them from doing things. He tried to answer these questions himself. Did the names control a specific part of a person’s brain? Did it affect their speech? Or the part of their minds that controls one’s impulses? Did the mark make a person do something? Or would the person do it either way? Does dedication come voluntarily, hand in hand with love, or did people feel forced to do things? The magic aspect of it was also incredibly intriguing, but that he could only ask his mother; no one else was to know that he was a sorcerer. Merlin found love names fascinating. He found more fascinating, though, a comment his mother once made.

It was a cold winter afternoon, and Merlin had just come back home from chopping wood. It wasn't his favourite activity, by a long shot, but his mother was incredibly busy so he managed.  
“I’ve got the wood, Mum” Merlin yelled, closing the door beside him.  
“Help me set up a fire, if you can,” she answered, so he did.  
The young boy walked to the fireplace, left the wood on it, and used his magic to ignite it. His mother wouldn’t know, and there wasn’t anyone else to see him in the house, so he really couldn’t be accused of being reckless. While staring at the red and orange flames, he thought that maybe that was why his mom always asked him to start the fire when she was in the kitchen. So she wouldn’t see, therefore, wouldn’t have to yell at him to be discrete. It did make things easier around the house, having magic. Well, at least when he could properly control it.  
“Dinner’s ready,” her mum called, dragging him away from his thoughts.  
“Coming,” he glanced once more at the flames, and the colour helped him remember: he wanted to know more about the love names.  
After the table was set and both of them were sitted, he looked at his mum’s eyes and spoke:  
“Could you tell me more about the names on people’s forearms?”  
Hunith seemed a little taken aback by the comment, but she smiled anyway.  
“What do you want to know?” her voice was as sweet as ever. Merlin, being so young, didn’t realise the tension in her voice, or how she subtly adjusted her left sleeve under the table.  
“Everything” his smile was so bright, Hunith couldn’t help herself but to feel relaxed.  
And doing as she was told, she started recounting to him as much as she knew.  
Hunith told him that no one really knows when the names started appearing, they just did. One day, out of the blue, people started having love names on their forearms. It was rumored that it had to do with noble people and love affairs, but Hunith always invented a new reason. Maybe the baker boy at the time was in love with the pretty beekeeper’s daughter and wanted to show it to the world. Maybe someone wanted to prove how much they loved their spouse, so they enchanted themselves to have their name and oblige to their every wish; more people may have chimed in, and the enchantment just passed on, one generation after the other. Maybe a strong sorcerer tried to give himself a tattoo and messed up the formula. Who’s to say? Decades, if not centuries, had passed since the last time someone loved someone without their name in their forearm.  
She then started explaining to him how the colours worked.  
First, the name appears in light grey, a mere crush. Many people bear this sort of mark, from children to elders. Kids in the street usually had this sort of names. Then, the letters turn grey. They are not vivid, don’t call too much attention to themselves. They are quite modest, not necessarily expecting anything back. Grey shows a person’s honesty to the one they love. It makes it hard for them to lie to their love overall, but impossible if their love asked them something directly. The next colour was blue. Striking, shining blue. It made it impossible to lie to the person in your arm. As if that wasn't enough, if they were to ask for a direct favour, it was almost impossible to refuse. Red was the last color, at least where love was related. It meant pure, selfless love. It was amazing, the prettiest colour anyone had ever seen. Red meant that a person would do anything for their loved one. There were some limits to the magic, sure, but those were few exceptions. To have a red love name, people would have to dedicate their life to their loved one, loving them more than life itself. Red was quite uncommon, but it wasn’t unheard of, there many stories about red-coloured lovers.  
“Are there any more colours?” Merlin asked, excitedly. He had only seen blues and greys, though if he really thought about it, he may have seen a red one somewhere.  
“Yes, black. Sometimes, when people really love each other, they don’t really get to share their lives.” Hunith noticed the shift in Merlin’s demeanor and understood that he got where she was building up to. “Black symbolises that. In general, it only appears if the person you love has died and you still love them, but it’s possible for it to be black for other reasons.”  
Clearly, that wasn’t the answer Merlin was looking for. He nodded solemnly. She didn’t want to end the conversation there, for it seemed any joy the idea of love names had given his son was slowly being eclipsed. Searching through her mind, she tried to find a story that her kid would enjoy, to cheer him up again.  
“Well, there’s also...” And then she remembered. The same story she loved as a child. “There’s something similar to another colour.”  
Merlin smiled, intrigued again, and Hunith barely held her sigh of relief in.  
“You see, colours only go up to red, because you can only love a person so much. There’s no more real love than red love, but there are stories of loves truer than red.”  
She told him about what some called “Golden love”. It was unclear if the love names actually changed colour, or if it just felt stronger and truer than red. Rumour had it, that golden love was incredibly, impossibly rare. The bond two lovers had to share for having golden names was so intricate and connected that separating one from each other would have been impossible; emotionally and or mentally.  
She had heard the story from an old woman, who said she knew the couple personally when she was a young girl, which could have been anywhere from sixty to ninety years before she told the story.  
Apparently, a bard had gotten himself sentenced to death. How, it was still unclear. The king, who had heard the best bards throughout the land, decided that if he managed to write the best song the king had heard yet his life would be pardoned. The bard was young enough to know he had his best years in front of him and arrogant enough to believe he could write such a song. He was granted five days.  
The bard spent his first two days roaming the castle yards, what on earth could he write about? But the third day, that's when he saw her. A young lady, and if you asked him the most beautiful lady alive. She disappeared before he could ask her for a name, but that wasn't needed; it was already lightly written in her forearm. A tune started playing in his mind, and he spent the whole afternoon writing it down. The fourth day had already come and he still couldn't figure the melody of the song. The setting sun found him in the yard, playing the tune over and over, trying uselessly to sing something. Hope seemed lost, until he saw a familiar face passing by. He left his instrument to the side, and grabbed a nearby flower. Sprinting to his feet, the bard intercepted the lady on her travels and managed to introduce himself and offer the flower. The second the lady thanked him, in between blushing smiles, he knew exactly how the melody should go.  
When he presented his song, five days after his sentencing, most people in the court were moved to tears. His life was pardoned and he was asked to stay as the king's bard. He smiled and accepted.  
The young lady, who had been seeing everything from her own place at the court, couldn't help but be moved by the bard's song. Once they were dismissed, she found the bard and told him her thoughts about the song. She was impressed that it had been written so quickly, and even more impressed to know she was his muse.  
Since then, the bard and the lady spent many afternoons together. His name was written on her forearm, and hers in his; but as good as their love was, they needed to cover it. Nobility should only love nobility, and her parents were very strict about that. They were very strict about many things, he had come to learn, she was barely happy. They would often joke about leaving the kingdom behind.  
After both their names were red, the bard got a letter from his family. Their village was under attack, and they needed him to return immediately. He was going to leave, and if he could, come back later. The not-so-young lady wanted to go with him, but she knew her family would never let her, so in a fit of frustration she went to the forest.  
The sun was setting and she heard a voice all around her. 'What is it that you want, little one?', it seemed to come from the trees, the grass and the wind. The voice was old and powerful. She told it her worries, and how she couldn't bear to leave her love alone, when she was stuck in the castle waiting for news of his return. She told it how the bard wanted her to stay safe but she knew she would rather be by his side than safe. The forest stayed silent for what felt like an eternity. It considered the situation. 'Run away,' the voice said, 'everything will be in place.'  
So she did. Both of them parted before the sunrise, and found they had enough money for the journey, and enough food and water to make it to a nearby village. And that's when they realised the name in their forearms had changed colour.  
It was said that they operated as one from then on, they barely needed to speak to communicate. They shared all they had, even their experiences and feelings. 

“That seems a bit unfair,” Merlin stated, once Hunith finished sharing the story.  
“How so?”  
“She left her life aside for him, what did he do for her?” he laid his hands on the table, palms up. As if looking for an explanation that wasn’t anywhere to be found.  
“Oh, Merlin,” she smiled “he gave her a home. A place to be happy. Sometimes that’s all we can aim for.”  
She stood up to hug her child, who didn’t seem comforted in the slightest by that answer. He would get it when he was older, she figured. Grabbing him by the shoulders, and smiling cheekily, she added:  
“He also led wars for her safety, risking his life for hers every time. But that’s a story for another day.”  
“How come I get the boring story now?” he looked at her with those bright eyes of his, and really, she couldn’t be bothered to not smile at his disappointment.  
“Go on then,” she said, fixing his clothes. “Maybe if you are a good kid tomorrow I’ll tell it to you some other time.”  
And with a good night’s kiss on his forehead she led him to bed.

Merlin had had his fair share of light grey names, most teenagers did. Not many got much further than that; unless, of course, they were in a relationship. In which case blue wasn't uncommon. He had never really felt the need to cover them, like some people did. Everyone had their reasons, but most were along the lines of unrequited love. He thought, for years, maybe that was his mum's case. It took him some years to realise it, but Merlin had never seen his mum's love name fully; she was always covering her left arm in subtle ways: long tunics, dresses, sweaters.  
He knew she had his father's name. He didn’t know how he did, particularly not knowing his father’s name in the first place, but he could almost feel it sometimes, calling to him from under her mother’s sleeves. Since he was a child he tried to catch a glimpse of the letters, he told himself it was because he was just curious by nature, but somewhere deep within himself he could feel it. It was a deep emptiness. A longing. A need for knowledge. Either way, when his mum finally stopped covering her left arm he saw it was unmarked. Merlin couldn't help himself from smiling, at least it meant she wasn't longing for someone who wouldn't come back anymore. 

When the years started coming, Hunith found she couldn't teach Merlin anymore about magic. His powers were getting scarily strong. Untamable even, at least for someone without much knowledge on the subject. She arranged for him to stay as her friend's apprentice in the castle. She knew it was risky, but Merlin believed it was worth it.  
"I'm gonna be okay, mum," he said, breaking apart from Hunith's embrace, "it's gonna be like an adventure."  
He was ready to go; in every sense of the word. All of his belongings were tightly packed in a small bag, which wasn’t much of a challenge given how few things he actually owned. He had already said goodbye to his best friend, Will, who had gifted him a bit of honey to have in his long journey. It was no secret that Merlin enjoyed sweet treats, a delicacy in their small town. Merlin left him his favourite book, and Will promised to read at least the beginning of it for when Merlin came back around. None of them felt it within themselves to say that that day may never come, knowing it was enough.  
Leaving Ealdor wasn’t an easy task. Merlin grew up there. He knew the place better than he knew himself. The lake in the forest, the trees on the edges of the village, the flowers that grew west from the bakery. He knew every spot, where to sleep, where to get the best firewood, where to read uninterrupted, where to practice magic unnoticed. He loved it, and yet...  
Merlin needed to leave. He felt it, deep inside him. The same need for his father’s name. The need of understanding who he was, in full.  
"You've got to keep yourself safe," Hunith warned, tears in her eyes. She wouldn’t let herself cry. Not now, not in front of Merlin. She brought her shoulders back and tried to compose herself.  
"Of course I will," he tried, unsuccessfully, to reassure her with a smile. Once again, he found himself in a tight hug. "It's going to be fine." 

The first thing Merlin thought standing at the heart of Camelot, watching an execution on the account of magic, was: ‘It's not going to be fine’. He knew people were against magic, he had to keep it hidden for a reason, but this felt like a bit too much.  
He found his way to the Physician's quarters, where he handed Gaius the letter his mum had written. Gaius, echoing his mother's words, told him he would have to keep out of trouble, and not let anyone know about his magic. Merlin sorrowly realised life at the castle would be way harder than he thought.  
Things became even harder when the blond prat he was insulting turned up to be the king's son, and even harderer when, after saving his life, he was given the position of the prince's manservant (how was that a reward?).  
At least he had become friends with Gwen, Lady Morgana's maidservant. She was delightful, and really, the only person that wasn't constantly criticising everything he did. With Arthur he was always clumsy, and messy, and lazy, and with Gaius he was always reckless, and naive, and not careful enough. But with Gwen he could just be. Granted, without his magic side, but it was still comfortable. 

Gwen was his closest friend, so, naturally, when Gwen’s father fell ill due to the contaminated water, he did what he could to help him. And when Gwen got sentenced to death on accounts of her being a witch, he stood up to king Uther himself.  
“It was me!” Merlin said, barging into the throne room, “It was me who used magic to cure Gwen’s father.”  
If looks could kill, Merlin would have been buried twenty feet under. Gaius seemed to be feeling too many emotions to just settle on one facial expression. Arthur’s face was somewhere between shock and anger. Merlin couldn’t care less. He had spent the last hours trying to think of ways to get Gwen out of the dungeons, but when every plan turned out to be unviable, he resigned himself to telling the truth. Seeing Gwen in the dungeons had shaken him in ways he couldn’t express with words. She looked so broken. He wasn’t going to have it. She wasn’t going to die because of him. It wasn’t right.  
“Gwen is not the sorcerer,” Merlin admitted, “I am!”  
The words came out fast and with intention. With desire. He had been sitting on those words for all of his life. He had had to hide himself since the day he was born. Before entering Camelot, even, being a sorcerer was this immense burden, and he felt so free, for once, saying it outloud. He was going to die come morning, but at least he was free now.  
“Merlin,” the court physician uttered through gritted teeth, with a calculated sereneness, “are you mad?”  
To anyone else, the question seemed trivial. ‘Have you lost your head, boy?’ he seemed to ask, ‘Did you drink too much, perhaps?’, but in his eyes Merlin could see the true question. And in Merlin’s eyes Gaius could see the answer he feared.  
“I cannot let her die for me.” Merlin turned to address Uther, “I place myself at your mercy.”  
“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Gaius said. But the catch was, Merlin did.  
“I do.”  
He stood still, tall. Chest out, shoulder’s back; as straight as he could manage. He was admitting to a crime punishable by death. He was telling the truth, for once. And damn him, if he wouldn’t stand strong. After all, hiding wears thin, but heavy on the soul.  
Uther’s eyes met his, and found nothing less than determination.  
“Then arrest him,” the king said.  
The guards promptly grabbed both of Merlin’s arms. He didn’t even put on a fight.  
“Father, please, I can’t allow this,” Arthur said. If Merlin wasn’t so focused on Uther, he may have realised these were Arthur’s first words since he interrupted the meeting. The prince walked over to where his manservant was, his voice still painted with shock, “This is madness! There’s no way Merlin is a sorcerer.”  
“Did you not hear him?” his father asked sternly. A coldness ran through his words.  
“Yes,” said Arthur.  
“He’s admitted it.”  
Arthur looked back at Merlin, barely for a second. If Merlin didn’t know better he may have thought Arthur was trying to see the situation from every possible angle, trying to choose one that would end with Merlin still alive tomorrow.  
“He saved my life, remember.”  
He stared directly at his father, a plea in his eyes. Of course Arthur would allude to Merlin’s character as why he wasn’t a sorcerer, Merlin thought. He had been told sorcerers were nothing less than evil incarnates.  
“Why should he fabricate such a story?” Uther tested.  
Arthur hesitated. Now, if Merlin didn’t really know better he would have thought Arthur, his royal pratness, Pendragon was worried about him.  
“As Gaius said,” Arthur started, spacing out his words, as if trying to clear his mind, “he’s got a grave mental disease.”  
Yep, Arhtur was absolutely inventing his words as he went.  
Merlin couldn’t help but to feel a little bit offended at the statement. First of all he did not have a mental disease, grave or otherwise, but second of all he just wanted to take responsibility for his actions and get this done with. He wondered, for a split second, what her mother would think. How would she find out of the news. Would she ever forgive him for not being careful enough with his magic? He pushed those thoughts aside as soon as they came.  
“Really?” Uther smiled.  
Arthur looked his way. With determination this time, not a vague look, trying to find the right words. He stared at the sleeves of his jacket, and Merlin could have sworn he saw the idea form in his mind. He didn’t like it one bit.  
“He’s in love,” Arthur declared.  
“What?” Merlin asked.  
“With Gwen,” the prince continued.  
“I am not,” Merlin tried to clarify for the counsel, but everyone was already smiling and not so subtly staring at his covered forearms.  
“Yes you are.”  
“No way.”  
“I saw you yesterday, with that flower she’d given you,” Arthur smiled. What? Was it a crime now to like flowers? Punishable by public humiliation obviously.  
“I’m not in love with her,” Merlin re-stated, starting to get a bit more desperate. Really, one came to die and got tortured. This wasn’t how he thought his magic declaration would turn out. He sort of wished they had killed him already.  
“It's all right,” Arthur said, passing an arm through his shoulder, “you can admit it, no need to be shy.”  
“I don’t even think about her like that!” Merlin was about to explode. Maybe if he showed them actual magic they would kill him already.  
“Perhaps she cast a spell on you,” Uther said.  
Oh no. No, no, no. They weren’t going to spin the narrative back to Gwen being a witch again, not if he could do anything to stop it. He was about to say something when he heard Uther laugh.  
“Merlin is a wonder,”Arthur laughed along to Uther’s joke, “but the wonder is that he’s such an idiot.” He stared at Merlin’s eyes directly, and in the coldest tone he had used yet he added, “There’s no way he’s a sorcerer.”  
If only you knew.  
“Don’t waste my time again, let him go,” Uther sentenced, walking back to his throne. 

Merlin left, his last plan had failed. How did admitting to what he had done failed? This was all Arthur’s fault. If he had just shut up, Merlin would have been able to take the punishment that was rightly his.  
He heard Gaius behind him, but he kept on walking. He was going to find a different way to save Gwen. He had to find whatever was contaminating the water and stop it.  
Luckily, after many ups and downs and failures, he actually managed to fix the whole problem. Arthur got most of the credit for it, but Merlin was starting to get used to it. He found he didn’t care much, he was starting to feel proud of Arthur. Just a tiny bit. Maybe it was this whole ‘being sides of the same coin’ situation that made him feel that way. Yeah, it probably was.  
That night, as he lay awake trying to reconcile sleep, the knowledge hit him like a brick wall.  
“I should have shown them my forearm!”  
Maybe he really was a bit of an idiot after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to edit a bit of this chapter, but barely had the time! Anyways, hope you enjoy it, and as always, feel free to leave a comment.  
> Next chapter may last a bit longer to post, for I need to finish writing it and I'm just half way there (also I don't have much time these days).


	3. Part Three- Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here!!!!!  
> Took some time to finish it.  
> I think it's the longest one yet.

A strong sound disturbed his sleep. The window creaked as it opened with the help of a strong push. Arthur stirred in his bed, mumbling incoherently.   
“Rise and shine!” Merlin beamed.   
The prince lazily opened up his eyes to stare at his manservant. Yes, he was smiling like a lunatic. Who would have that much energy at this ungodly hour?  
“C’mon, sir, it’s a beautiful day.”  
He sounded so chirpy. Like a small bird. Should’ve been named Swallow or something.   
“Just some more sleep,” Arthur slurred, barely moving his lips at all.   
Staying up last night reading some old treaties with a faraway kingdom hadn’t been the brightest of ideas. It hadn’t even been a good idea to do the same thing the night before. Or the one before that. He read through thousands of words only to resurface from the parchments even more clueless than before. What’s more, his body was now trying to cash in those hours of sleep that he had so carelessly neglected.   
“Oh, won’t be possible,” Merlin said, now taking the covers off of him. Arthur complained with a growlish sound that would have made the stable dogs envious. “Lady Morgana has asked to have breakfast with you.”  
Arthur passed a hand through his face. Initially, to cover his eyes to sleep better, but midway through he resigned, and used the gesture to try and push sleep away. Arthur took a deep breath, letting the fresh morning air fill him, counted to three and sat upright.   
“See?” his servant said with that irritatingly shiny smile of his, “It wasn’t that hard.”  
Arthur was gonna kill him someday. 

After breakfast he went back up to his room, he needed to return the books and parchments he had read that night. Arthur could always send Merlin to grab more texts for him, but he liked doing it himself. There was something about the Hall of records. It could be the smells of old parchment, or the fact that Geoffrey would always let him search for what he needed on his own, or maybe even the fact of just being around so much history. Something about the place always attracted him. He was already thinking of the texts he was going to take next when the presence of an unexpected servant made him lose his thoughts.   
“Merlin,” he said, “what are you still doing here?”  
The young man turned his head to the prince, stopping whatever he was doing.   
“I thought I might as well clean up a bit while you were gone.” He took some steps towards the king, both hands behind him. “I could leave if you’d like me to, but I wasn’t expecting you to be back so early.”  
“You’ve got something with you?” Arthur asked, now walking to the table. He eyed his servant disapprovingly.   
“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” Merlin smiled. His eyes shone in a way Arthur had learnt to be worried of. The prince sighed and put a hand to his hip.  
“Come here, let me see what you’ve got behind you.”  
“Nothing, I swear.” The servant said. He looked sincere, but Arthur knew better than trusting everything that Merlin said. With both of his hands in front of him, the servant added: “Look! My hands are empty.”  
“Whatever you say, Merlin,” Arthur sighed. He was still tired and even if he could sneak a bit of sleep after lunch he wouldn’t be able to get a proper rest until the night. The prince had no energy to waste in a petty, pointless discussion. “You better not be doing something that would get you in trouble, or I would have to find a way of getting you out of it, _again_.”  
Well, he had a bit of energy to spare, he could allow himself to be a _bit_ petty.  
It wasn’t as if he was still thinking about the other day. Not that much.  
“Fine, sir.” Merlin got back to whatever he was doing, and Arthur couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t showing him his back. In fact, he seemed to be trying his very best not to. Arthur sighed again but decided to ignore him. It’s usually better to ignore Merlin’s shenanigans anyways. What he couldn’t really ignore was the fact that the dark-haired young man was mumbling to himself: ‘I _would_ be okay on my own.’  
_As if_.   
“I’d like to see you fend for yourself,” Arthur smiled. All of the texts he needed now under his arms, he added: “You can stay cleaning, I have to go to the Hall of records, anyway.”  
“Fine, sir.” Merlin smiled, though this time it was clear that he wasn’t happy about the idea.   
That made Arthur smile. He walked up to the door but stopped before leaving. He turned his face to the now-busy young man.  
“Oh, and Merlin?” the prince said.  
“Yes, sir?”  
“Polish my armour after you are done.” And with that, he finally left the room, a sense of satisfaction stemming from Merlin’s annoyed groan.   
He could have sworn he heard Merlin mumble something that sounded suspiciously similar to ‘Prat’, but that couldn’t be, Merlin _never_ said anything like that, least of all _to the prince_. He chuckled a bit on his way down.

Arthur was asked to have lunch with his father. It went as good as one may expect.   
“Good to see you,” his father said. “Where were you all morning?”  
“Researching,” Arthur responded. “For when Princess Giselle comes to Camelot.”  
“I’m glad to hear that.” Uther took a small pause. He smiled. “You are doing an amazing job, son.”  
Arthur didn’t know how to take the compliment. Let alone what to say.   
“Well, let’s eat, shall we?” the king smiled once more.  
Over the years Arthur had learnt not to resent his father as he did that devastating night when he was fifteen, but that conversation followed him everywhere. It was Arthur’s shadow, showing itself in the stone floors, the white walls, next to him in his bed. On bad days, or even some nights, the memory would invade him, inundating his senses. Now, after years had passed, most times, the realization of what his father was capable of doing would cross his mind subtly, a small reminder that he needed to stay in line and do what was best for his people.   
Maybe it was because today he was tired. Maybe it was because other thoughts had entered his mind lately. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. He didn’t know why exactly. His mind was clouded. Something clicked when he saw his father. Perhaps reading being surrounded by books and parchments took him back to years ago when for days all he did was read. The only places he saw apart from his sleeping chambers being corridors and the Hall of records. Something inside him had awakened. Washed him over like waves in a storm. He didn’t know what he was, but that day, right there, the only thing he could think about was that dreadful discussion. He was drowning in it.   
Arthur barely spoke during the meal. He answered some questions about what he had been reading, proposed some ideas for different treaties they could write. He measured his words, doing his best to keep a steady demeanour. The bandages on his arms felt too tight. He could barely breathe.   
“I was thinking, you should maybe take Princess Giselle horseback riding. She was always fond of horses,” King Uther would say.   
“I will kill whoever you love if you fail to keep your emotions in check,” Arthur would hear.   
It was like that over and over. He was far away from the present conversation; his mind had shipwrecked. The discussion was a furious ocean during a storm, he did his best to cling onto a rock. Wave after wave. He needed to do something.  
“I’m not feeling very well,” Arthur managed to say.   
“How so?”  
“I-” he stalled. He wanted to leave, but couldn’t bear the idea of being sent back to bed. Or to Gaius. He needed to move. He needed- “I have an annoying headache. I was thinking maybe exercise would make it better.”   
“If you think that would help you, sure. Go train after we eat dessert.”  
“No,” Arthur said, almost snapping. He took a breath in. “If you would excuse me, I’d rather go now.”  
Uther looked a little bit taken aback. Arthur felt like he was going to explode.   
“Then, you are excused.”   
Arthur stood up, but before he got the chance to leave, Uther added: “If you feel better for dinner time you should come, if not, go see Gaius.”  
He looked worried. Arthur forced himself to give a small smile.   
“I will.”

Over the years, Arthur had discovered hitting things repeatedly with a sword made everything better. The simplicity of repeating patterns was usually enough to help him focus, get everything else out of his mind. He became blind to anything that wasn’t his sword, his instant surroundings and the dummy in front of him. The ache in his muscles only helped him ground himself even further. All his thoughts were what came next. What came next after this movement, after that step, after that defence.   
He concentrated on his movements. Practising his technique required enough attention.   
Posture. One foot. The other one. Move the left foot one step forward. One step backwards. Hit. Hit. Hit, again.   
Some thoughts weren’t as easy to bury. Despair crept on the sides of his mind, fighting for space.  
Metal against metal, he could see the dent he left on the dummy's armour. He could feel the collision on his own sword. His arm could feel the aftermath of such a strong hit. Metal against metal, and yet the clash sounded like a broken heart.   
His movements became more brutal. The technique had folded in the need for strength and quickness.   
Anger surrounded him. A feeling of unjustness had made itself comfortable deep in his stomach. Hopelessness greeted him like an old friend, shook his hand and stood beside him.   
Arthur landed every hit with more strength than the previous one. The armour on the dummy was starting to break. He shot for the neck and cut the head right off.   
Someone called him; far away. He could almost hear it.   
He hit the dummy harder still. Flashes of things he would never have flooded his mind. He pushed them away. He pushed everything away.   
Metal against metal, it sounded like crying.   
So what if there were things he couldn’t do? He was the prince. He needed to obey. He needed to serve the people, even if that demanded sacrifices.   
Another hit. And another one, and another one. The armour fell to the ground.   
His life was demanding. Always. He knew this from the start. Draining.   
The voice called him again.   
He broke the dummy in half.   
He moved onto the next one.  
A question he would never dare utter soared through his blood, clouded his vision. Unfairness consumed him like a flame did hay. He pushed it away. He was the prince. That’s why. That’s always why.   
Being the prince was an honour. He should be proud of his position. Then why...?  
He focused once again on his movements. Hit on the right side. On the left. In the head.   
He heard his name so faintly he may have not heard it at all.   
Why? Why? Why did he feel like this? Why couldn’t he just concentrate? Why wouldn’t all his thoughts just leave him alone?  
Every muscle in his arm cried for him to stop. He ignored them. Just as he did.  
One hit. And another one. An unsaid question was present in a hidden part of the prince's mind but another one was in the very front. How hard would he have to hit the damn dummy for all of this to go away?  
Someone was calling for him. Or maybe he imagined it. He didn’t care. He pushed all thoughts away, trying his very best to keep himself present at the moment.  
He hit the dummy again.   
You are not to ever fall in love.   
Metal against metal, he screamed.  
Something snapped. A shriek of pain sung by many weapons in battle. Arthur didn’t need to look to understand what had happened. His training sword had broken.   
“Arthur!” someone screamed behind him.   
He looked to the ground, where half his sword lay. Then back to the part of the sword he still held onto. He saw his own reflection in the metal.  
Someone laid an urgent hand on his shoulder.   
Arthur finally turned around to see him.   
“Arthur!” Merlin screamed, once more. His eyes were wide open with concern. His eyebrows up. One of his hands was slowly, carefully, taking the broken sword out of his own hand. The other one was still on the prince’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”   
Right then, in that instant, the world fell quiet.   
“I don’t know,” the prince mumbled. He was thirsty, he realized. Very much so. The armour he was wearing felt too tight, even worse, it had risen his temperature, standing in the sun, the metal was uncomfortably warm. He wanted a bath. His muscles ached for some rest. “I’m tired.”  
“Well, you did go a bit too hard on those dummies, didn’t you?” Merlin laughed. Arthur felt a little bit more like himself.   
“They deserved it.” He smiled back at his manservant.   
“Let’s go, you look like you need some sleep.” The dark-haired young man grabbed the other half of the sword and started walking towards the armoury. “You probably need a bath, too,” Merlin smiled once more.   
Arthur didn’t have the energy to be even slightly offended at the comment, he just wanted to get off the stupid armour and up to his room.  
“Yeah, I do.”

“The bath is ready,” Merlin announced, once he finished setting it up.   
“Thank you,” Arthur mumbled. He had sent Merlin before him, while he spoke with the head of the armoury about his more-than-slightly-destructive tendencies in the training field today. He got praised for his actions, which he knew he didn’t deserve, after all, more dummies would have to be made and he broke a sword. None of that was good news. But well, being a prince has its things. Like never being held accountable for anything.   
“Did you-?” Merlin stopped. He smiled cheekily. “Sorry, did you just thank me?”  
He walked towards the bath, slowly. He tested the water's temperature.   
“Uh, no,” he said, offhandedly.   
His servant’s grin did nothing more than widen. “You definitely did.”   
“Shut up,” Arthur spatted back, with no real anger behind the comment.   
The water was warm.   
He started to take his shirt off when he noticed Merlin was still staring at him. He gave him a pointed look.  
“Right. Right. I’m leaving,” Merlin said, simply. The points of his ears were slightly blushed, and Arthur may have realised if he wasn’t so concentrated on Merlin’s leave. The aforementioned guy shifted awkwardly before adding: “it’s just, are you sure you are okay?”  
“I’m fine, Merlin, stop worrying.”  
“You know, whatever’s troubling you, you can-”  
“I said I’m fine,” the prince said pointedly.  
“Well, I’m just going to tidy up a bit more around here. If you need me.” Merlin gave him a polite nod and then left.

Now finally alone, Arthur took his shirt off. He walked over to the cabinet where two new bandages were waiting for him, provided by Gaius of course. He never even had to tell him. One day they just suddenly appeared. Clean and new and much better than his own makeshift bandages from his old shirts, which were always much too big or much too small to cover his forearms graciously. In a familiar motion, Arthur grabbed the bandages, a new set of clothes and walked to the bath.   
He bathed himself. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, especially in Camelot, but mostly, high nobles as himself were expected to have someone bathe them. Arthur had long ago despised the notion and no matter how much his father would oppose it, he would bathe himself.   
His muscles relaxed at the water’s touch. It wasn’t as good as sleeping for hours on end, but it was the next best thing. His eyelids felt suddenly very heavy, and he let himself rest for a moment. The day had been exhausting. And where did his fit of energy while training came from? His body was holding him accountable for that now. Maybe today he could sleep a reasonable amount. Princess Giselle wasn’t to arrive yet, he still had a fortnight, but still, there was so much he had to do. The king had somehow convinced himself that Arthur was up to the challenge of arranging the whole ordeal. ‘It will be good practice for when you rule,’ the king had said, and his son couldn’t find it in himself to refuse. So, he had spent hours upon hours for days on end making sure everything was perfect for the situation. Arranging everything from what would be eaten at the welcoming feast to how they may renew the peace treaty that was on the verge of expiring. Fifty-seven old treaties later, he still hadn’t been able to create a draft he felt proud of. Nothing felt right. This was a chance to prove himself a good leader, to show not only his father but everyone, that he had it in him. That the crown would fit him nicely. And here he was, bathing.   
Arthur opened his eyes slowly, that was enough for now. He needed to bathe and most importantly he needed to keep going with his day.   
Like every time, the last thing he did was cleaning his forearms. He closed his eyes. In practised motions, he got the bandages off him, and softly rubbed soap on his skin, making sure to take all of the dirt out. It wasn’t usually very dirty, it was under fabric most of the time.   
He didn’t want to know. He seriously didn’t. He did his best not to fall in love with everyone, obviously; it was second nature by now. But if he did, if he _failed_ , he didn’t want to know. His stomach would knot just at the idea of it. So he didn’t see. Never. If words appeared on his forearm they would stay secret from the world, from everyone. The bandages were more a part of his body than his skin was.   
Having already dried his forearms, his hands reached for the new bandages. With complete ease, he managed to bandage his arms. Once that was done with, he opened his eyes once more and got out of the bath. 

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”   
“Sorry, sir,” Merlin took his eyes from Arthur’s bandaged forearms, a little startled. Instead of turning around, his focus just shifted to Arthur. He was just standing there. Staring at Arthur. Doing _nothing_.  
“Go on then, keep doing whatever it was you were doing,” the prince shooed him away with his hand, trying to concentrate on the texts in front of him.   
“Yeah. Yes, of course.” He turned around and continued picking things and moving them around.  
Reading about trading commerce was demanding. It required attention, he needed to take notes and he needed to be precise. As boring as it may be, it was completely necessary for creating a treaty. Knowing what his land could provide and what couldn’t be the basis for any type of negotiation. He needed to look through years of numbers to see what was the standard, what he might need and what he could comfortably promise. Arthur couldn’t get stuff done if he didn’t concentrate fully, and Merlin stealing glances from him was very distracting.  
“What, Merlin?” the blond barked through gritted teeth, turning his face just enough to catch the dark-haired young man’s eyes on his.  
“I-” He was clearly caught off guard. Arthur could see how shock made way for determination. “I was wondering why you bandage your arms.”  
“I’m sure you know about the marks, you can't be that much of an idiot,” he said while turning on his chair, to face the other young man directly.   
“The… Love names, right.” Merlin looked a bit confused, he sneaked a small glance to his bandaged arms, before his eyes grew three times their usual size. Something inside him seemed to click, but somehow he looked a bit ashamed. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to, I mean if you’ve lost the person I can get why you wouldn’t want to see their name-”  
“There’s no name, Merlin,” he stopped him. It was amazing he understood everything the young man had just said, considering how fast he had talked.  
“Oh.” Arthur could see it. Clear as day. A doubt was forming in Merlin’s mind. Whatever it was, he didn’t say it.   
Merlin tidied up the bed one last time. He looked around.   
“Guess, I’ll leave then. Should probably help Gaius.”  
Arthur nodded, “Mhm,” he said softly in agreement, turning once again to his texts.  
“See you later.”  
“Goodbye.”   
Maybe he would be able to focus now. 

After hours of reading, researching and writing, Arthur was ready to jump out of the window to leave his room. Instead, he decided to go down to return some of the texts and exchange others; he could read them in the morning. His muscles were pulling him downward, demanding rest, and he felt he couldn’t hold himself together much longer.   
He found himself taking a longer route to the Hall of records, one that happened to go through Gaius’s door. No particular reason, he just… wanted to go through there. But now that he was there, he couldn’t _not_ enter.   
“Prince Arthur,” Gaius said once he saw him come in. “What can I do for you?”  
“I was wondering whether you had something to help me sleep better.”  
“Of course, wait just a moment.” Having said that, Gaius turned around.   
Arthur, upon finding himself with no purpose whatsoever except standing there, decided to explore the quarters. He left his pile of texts over the nearest clean surface. There was something very intriguing about the place. Maybe it was the number of small bottles with different liquids. Maybe the different scents the place always seemed to have. Maybe it was the old books, dispersed around the room. He walked to one, slowly, trying to take everything in. It was about a type of herb he had never seen before. The pages were of a soft shade of brown, the ink was spotted in some places. A colourful drawing occupied the best part of one of the pages.   
“Oh, hi.”  
Arthur turned around to find Merlin, standing there, probably just leaving his own room.   
“Hi.”  
“Oh, Merlin, great, can you help me find a sleeping draught for Prince Arthur, I seem to have misplaced it,” Gaius said, from somewhere behind him.   
“Yes, sure.” The young man turned around to a shelf to his right.   
Arthur once again felt useless. So he turned once more to the herbs. ‘Meadowsweet’, it read. The drawing showed both white and pink flowers. On its uses, the texts described many ways in which it could help with pains.   
“Here it is,” Merlin smiled, offering a small bottle with an almost clear liquid in it to Arthur. He took it.  
“Was there something else you needed, sire?” Gaius asked.  
“Not really.” Upon considering it, he looked at Merlin. Merlin clearly didn’t like the look his eyes bore. “Though, I could use some help taking these texts to the Hall of records.”  
“Sure thing,” Merlin mumbled, his voice apathetic.  
“Off we go,” Arthur smiled, showing Merlin the pile of texts and walking towards the door. “Goodbye, Gaius.”  
“Goodbye, sire.”

“What’s all this for anyway?” Merlin complained from under the new pile of texts and books Arthur had selected.   
“For when Princess Giselle comes to the kingdom. I need to draft a new peace treaty.”  
“All by yourself? Seems like a bit too much.”  
“Yeah, well,” Arthur shrugged, “I’m next in line to be king.”  
“Anyways,” Merlin looked at him sternly, “shouldn’t this be done by, like, a whole group of people?”  
“Are you saying I’m not fit for the job?” Arthur raised an eyebrow.  
“Not in the slightest, sire,” the youngest said, with only a tint of sarcasm in his voice, “just… seems like a lot.”  
“It can be,” the prince mumbled, opening the door to his chambers.   
Merlin left all of the texts on the table.  
“Would you need me for anything else?”  
“Not really.” At the sight of his bed, Arthur’s whole body ached from exhaustion. “Let the king know I will not join him for dinner.”  
“Would you want me to bring some food for you from the kitchens?” Merlin asked, before exiting.  
“Yes.” Arthur started organizing the new texts. “Be quick.”  
“On it.”  
He categorized them into different piles. One for those that had to do with trade, those that had to do with past treaties and those that had to do with Princess Giselle’s kingdom. It took some time. After that he cleared his table so that he would have a space to eat in. Really, Merlin should have done that, but the prince couldn’t be bothered at the moment. He just wanted to eat something, get rid of his hunger and go to sleep.  
The door creaked, taking Arthur from his thoughts.   
“Here’s the food,” Merlin said putting it in the space Arthur had cleared for him.  
The prince nodded, grabbing the fork. 

The dark-haired young man tied the room a little bit more. Walking from a place to the other, Arthur’s gaze followed him around.   
Merlin rolled up his sleeves, distracted.   
“Oh, you shouldn’t do that,” the prince said.   
“Do what?” the servant smiled, “clean?”  
“Keep your forearms like that.”  
The young man stopped for a second, confused. Slowly, he said: “Visible?”  
“Yeah.” Arthur moved the plate away from himself, he had barely gotten to the steak, but he was full.  
“Why not?” Merlin frowned, now getting closer to Arthur.  
“Do you know anything?” He shouldn’t have said that. Now Merlin looked offended. He decided to explain instead of attack. “The name in your forearm is your weakness.”  
“It’s not, it’s the person you love.” He looked at him like he was dumb.   
“That’s the same thing,” Arthur said sternly. “Having someone that you can’t say no to is a political weakness.”  
“Huh,” Merlin muttered, and if Arthur didn’t know any better he would say he sounded disappointed.  
“What I’m saying is you should cover-up. I could lend you some bandages if you need to.” Arthur said softly. “Just in case. You know, people in the court can be… Ruthless. It’s just better that way.”  
“Oh,” Merlin said, in an understanding tone. He nodded before adding; “Well I appreciate your concern, I do, but I don’t think I will be doing it anytime soon.”  
“I’ll leave you a pair just in case,” Arthur said, standing up, walking towards his bed. “Also, I won’t be eating anymore. I left some things untouched if you were to want them. It would be a shame if they went to waste.”  
“Thank you,” Merlin smiled confusedly. “Goodnight, Arthur.”  
“Good night, Merlin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go babes no fact-checking, just writing. Head empty, no thoughts, just music and words.  
> I wrote like 1k of the words just today bc I remembered this existed.  
> Hope you enjoyed it! And as always feel free to comment.  
> [I edited a bit at the end, it's not really important, it's about the food. I just had written it weirdly idk, anyways don't really worry about it.]

**Author's Note:**

> And that concludes the first chapter! Originally I was planning on writing one, then three, and it has now developed to possibly ten chapters. I just really like this story and I like expanding on it.  
> Let's talk posting schedules: There are no posting schedules. I know, I know, it's not good news. But! I have already written another chapter and the third one is on the way, so maybe, just maybe I can post around one per week.  
> In other news, as I previously mentioned, I was planning on writing the whole thing, edit it, and then publish it. Truth be told I got excited today and decided to publish anyway, this may mean that eventually, I will go back to fix things. If I do I'll make sure to let you know what I updated and why so you don't have to go back and read everything again.  
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed it and feel free to comment your opinions!


End file.
